by N. N. Britt
We drove down Sunset and stopped by a few smaller dealerships. I wanted to look for a car online and pay for it in cash, but she insisted on getting a loan to help Ashton build his credit.
“Mom, you understand if you co-sign and he doesn’t make a payment on time, it’ll screw your credit too?” I tried to reason with her as we were leaving the first lot. “And it’ll happen.”
“It’s not like I’m going to buy a house anytime soon.” She brushed me off.
“Funny, you never offered to co-sign when I was trying to get my first car,” I noted, getting behind the wheel of my Honda.
“You never asked. You just did whatever you had your heart set on without checking with me or your father.”
We shut the doors and were cocooned in the comfort of my modest vehicle. This was the first time in years she’d brought up dad and it struck a chord with me.
“Mom.” I spun in my seat and looked at her. “Can I ask you something?”
She flipped the visor and fixed her lipstick. “Sure.”
Years of working two jobs had worn my mother down, but she was still a beautiful woman. Today, she’d styled her hair into a French twist and had put on daring makeup. These past couple of months without Ashton around had been good for her mental health, but while I enjoyed seeing the spark in her eyes, the fears were still there, constant and obvious. She desperately clung to the fading traces of youth and it was difficult to watch. Oftentimes, I wondered if the loneliness she’d been living in ever since my father walked out wasn’t only his fault but also my and my brother’s.
“What is it?” My mother flicked her gaze at me, eyes curious.
The question was stuck in my throat, heavy like lead. I swallowed past it and muttered, “Do you remember when dad started drinking?”
She froze, lipstick still open between her fingers. “Why do you want to talk about him? He’s a goddamn quitter.” I could hear her anger.
“I just—” My voice broke. “I just want to know how it started. I don’t remember seeing him sober. Ever.”
My mother closed the lipstick and tossed it in her purse. “That’s because he never was.” She turned her head away from me and glanced at the stretch of parking lot ahead of us. “First it was a beer or two after work, then it was beer for breakfast and vodka for lunch until he lost his job and then his license.”
“What about rehab or AA? Did he ever try?”
“I talked to him about it many times. He promised to get help, but it was always tomorrow. He kept feeding me those tomorrows for years.” She turned to me, and her tired face went blank for a brief moment. “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, sweetheart.”
“Do you know where he is right now?”
“No, and I don’t care.” Her expression was full of worry. “What’s gotten into you? Don’t tell me you want to see him?”
“No, it’s not that. We just never talk about him.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. He left.”
The urge to scream and bang my head against the steering wheel was so sudden, my solar plexus convulsed. Drawing a deep breath, I slid the key in the ignition and started the car.
“Good riddance.” My mother scoffed, fighting the seatbelt. “We’re better off anyway.”
She wasn’t wrong. Between living without a father or living with a money-sucking body, the choice was obvious.
Next, we made a stop at another dealership. Our fifth for the day. I was fixing myself a coffee at the refreshment station when my phone began to buzz. The texter was persistent.
“How about that Mini Cooper, sweetheart?” my mother called from across the room, motioning at the bright red car that sat outside in the yard. “It’s only eight thousand.”
My phone continued to ping. “For Ashton? Are you out of your mind?”
“It’s got low mileage.” She rushed over, a brochure in her hand.
“Trust me, he will not get behind the wheel of this car, Mom. Even if it’s free.”
“You think?”
“I’m pretty sure.” I pulled out my phone and checked the incoming messages.
Levi: Just got the word from Maria. Frankie’s coming.
Levi: Get your ass here. Pronto.
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I didn’t think Frank was still on board emotionally and mentally. Especially after last night. With everything going on, it seemed as if Isabella’s album was the last thing he’d be interested in.
“Mom?” I tore my gaze from my phone. “I have to be somewhere. Can we resume tomorrow?”
“What’s the rush?” my mother questioned as I ushered her outside. “Is it your boyfriend? Are you ever going to introduce him to me?”
“Probably. Eventually.” I opened the Uber app. “I’m going to get you a car, okay?”
“Where are you going? Did something happen?”
“Everything’s fine. It’s just work.”
Another string of messages attacked my phone.
Levi: You need to be here!
Levi: Right now!
Levi: You’re going to miss it!
It sounded so end-of-the-world serious, I almost ran a red light on my way to the studio. Roman stood outside when I pulled up to the building. A couple of kids were hanging around the parking lot and my gut told me they were here for Frank. I cut the engine and grabbed my phone. Isabella’s Instagram story featured my boyfriend. It was a two-second snippet of him and her band in the studio. For a man who had every intention of keeping all his affairs and charitable causes private, he wasn’t very careful with this one.
I heard a tap. Roman’s face swam into focus as I rolled down the window.
“Ms. Evans, it’s best you go around and use the back entrance,” he said, his sharp gaze dancing across the lot.
I tossed my phone aside and surveyed my surroundings. What do you know? In a car two rows over sat a guy with a telephoto lens. Panic took over me. Squeezing out a meek smile, I gave Roman a nod and slid up my window.
The rear of the building was in a narrow, unkempt alley lined by dumpsters with chipped paint. A thick layer of grime covered the rough pavement. I parked next to a limo that took up three spots and looked around to make sure neither the pap nor the kids had followed me. The coast was clear. Only two security guards and a studio employee on a smoke break, all of whom I knew well at this point, were in the alley. Tossing a casual greeting at everyone, I made a beeline for the door. Then the moment I stepped into the hallway, I heard Frank’s voice. The notes bled through the walls, pulsing through the stuffy air, filling the hollow parts of the space with bliss.
The music was unfamiliar. Isabella’s vocals blended with his in the most exquisite way one person could complement the other. She was a rough wave against his elegant tenor and a trail of goosebumps rushed across my skin.
I felt my heartstrings come undone in my chest. Snap. Snap. One after the other. My pulse tripped. My knees were suddenly soft like Jell-O.
I had to stop for a second to catch my breath. The duet was stunning. The lyrics and the instruments were muffled, but I knew it there and then. This, the way their voices melded, was pure emotion. Raw. Powerful. Unstoppable.
I heard Brooklyn rattling off something before she entered the hallway, interrupting the music. Standing across the way with the phone pressed to her ear, she waved at me, her face tense as always.
I shot her an inaudible hello and carefully pulled the studio door open to sneak inside with as little disturbance as possible.
The room felt at least twenty degrees hotter than the hall. I didn’t know if it was because of all the people gathered here or because of Frank. He sat in a chair in front of the drum kit, broken shoulder secured inside the sling, hair slightly disheveled, posture sharp, despite last night’s drinking spree. A microphone stood nearby. A sheet of paper lay on his lap. Isabella was right next to him. Concentrating solely on the words, they weren’t paying attention to their surroundings. This was an instru
mental break and the music wrapped around me like a warm balm, each note a pleasant prick to my skin. Story grinned from ear to ear while strumming through the chords on his guitar. Andy and Kit looked completely frazzled.
The light on Levi’s camera that was positioned on the opposite side of the room blinked red, which meant the session was being recorded. He and Ashton hung in the corner. I tiptoed to the couch and took a seat next to Maria. My heart thundered.
Frank hadn’t said anything about being here today. He hadn’t left the house since his release from the hospital. This change of heart was sudden and strange after yesterday’s very depressing conversation. Part of me feared facing him now that those words had been said.
The instrumental break ended and Frank reached for the microphone and laid on more vocals.
The fusion of music and his voice sliced through me like a hot knife through butter. The drums pounded in my temples along with my own blood. My entire body was a mad surge of electricity, a crackling entity. A cloud of adrenaline, endorphins, and other hormones that were unknown to humanity.
My gaze darted between Isabella and Frank as I watched them trade off notes and lines. They were mesmerizingly beautiful in their brokenness. She was an invisible force and he was a kind mentor. His face looked thin and void of color under the harsh stream of overhead lights. Dark shadows beneath his eyes gave away the anxiety and the weight of his emotional turmoil, but there was a genuine smile on his lips. It brightened his features. It brightened the entire room and set my poor hammering heart on fire.
He didn’t notice me until the song came to an end. The music stopped and a scattered but very enthusiastic round of applause filled the room.
“How about that, huh?” Frank grinned at Isabella, fumbling with the paper.
There was no doubt they were musically compatible. I still shivered from the abandon of feelings I’d experienced but had yet to decipher.
She grinned back. “I might have a spot for you in my band.”
“I’ll take it. I’m pretty good at back-up.”
Everyone laughed. Frank was his normal charming self. His eyes landed on my face. “Nice of you to join us, Cassy.” He smiled, his expression playful.
Our gazes danced an invisible dance, and I felt his remorse and his apology. I wasn’t sure he remembered everything that had been said and done last night, but I forgave him there and then. Seeing how music transformed him and how much joy it brought into his life made me happy.
Nothing else mattered.
The rehearsal ran late. Frank was on a roll, so he sang a few more songs—one of Isabella’s originals and three covers—before finally stepping aside.
Around nine, Brooklyn pulled me into the hallway and broke the news.
“There’s a huge crowd outside.”
“Shit. What do we do?” Cold panic twisted my gut. I wasn’t prepared for the press.
She cleared her throat and said, “Ask Frank.”
“What do you mean? Isn’t it part of your job?” I hissed, gawking at her.
“It’s whatever he wants to do.”
With my heart in my throat, I returned to the studio, where the band had already started to pack. Everyone said their goodbyes, and although Frank was pale with exhaustion, his voice was the loudest in the buzz of excited chatter that went around the room.
Ashton and Levi were putting away their gear. Brooklyn paced. The entire building felt as if it had been turned upside down.
Finally, after all was said and done, the band poured into the hallway. Cases with equipment rattled while shrieks of laughter bounced between the paraphernalia-lined walls. Maria and Levi were the last ones to leave. Ashton stood outside the door, waiting.
“There are a bunch of reporters in the front,” I told Frank nervously.
“I know.” His gaze found mine. “It’s okay.”
“We’ll be all over the tabloids.”
He stared at me intensely, his blue irises sparkling. “That’s fine.”
“Are you serious?”
“I don’t want to hide anymore.” His voice was a frail whisper.
My head spun. This was unexpected. We’d hardly discussed going public. There was no doubt I wanted it more than anything—the secrecy drove me insane. But we had no plan. My mother and Ashton would get caught in the fallout. “Me neither, but what about my family?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that,” Frank said calmly, touching my cheek. “There’s a car waiting in the back that you can use.” His eyes were bright and incredibly alive, and he shone like a lucid dream.
“What about you?” I wanted to hug him, but the fear of being accidentally seen by someone who had no business seeing us together rendered me motionless.
Frank grinned. “I’m going to go outside for a bit and sign some autographs.” He pulled his hand away from my cheek and laced our fingers together. My skin went ablaze. We stood close, just a couple of inches separating our bodies.
“What about my car?” I asked, squeezing his palm gently.
“Roman will get it.”
I nodded and his grasp weakened. Our hands fell apart as we walked out of the room. Face riddled with panic, Ashton was still waiting for me in the hallway.
“Umm, there’s a bunch of reporters,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I’ve got all this stuff.” He motioned at the camera bags.
“Where’s Levi?” I asked.
“Went to move the car.”
“Text him to go around and meet us in the alley.”
“I’ll see you in a bit,” Frank told me, smiling, then gave Ashton a pat on the back. “Are you keeping it gangsta, bud?
“Always.” My brother’s chin went up and his shoulders straightened. I would’ve sworn he grew at least two inches taller right before my eyes.
“Good. Just stay out of trouble,” Frank said and headed over to the reception area.
The front doors swung open and I heard the noise coming from outside as it slipped into the building and carried across the corridor. Anarchy took over the parking lot. People shouted. Cameras clicked.
Frank was like a magnet. For a second there, it felt as if the energy of the entire city was gathered around him.
A limo waited for us at the rear of the building. Levi’s truck pulled up a few minutes later and when Ashton got in with him, I was left alone. The silence soothed my erratic heartbeat. On Twitter, videos and photos of Frank and Isabella signing autographs outside the privately owned rehearsal space in Hollywood began trending long before he joined me. Roman had parked the limo around the block, and after he helped Frank inside, he hopped in the front.
“Home, boss?” he asked.
“Yes.” Frank relaxed against the seat and pressed the privacy screen button.
I scooted closer until our thighs brushed. He breathed hard and loud, and fatigue lined his face. I could tell this had been a very difficult day for him physically.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
Frank readjusted his arm in the sling and rolled his neck. “Like I’ve been fucking run over.” He brought my hand to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. “I’m sorry about last night, doll.”
There were so many things that I needed to tell him pivoting inside my head, I didn’t know where to even start. My tongue refused to move.
“I can’t seem to get a fucking break.” He paused to catch his breath, eyes closed, chest heaving.
I wanted to straddle him and perform mouth to mouth so he wouldn’t have to struggle, but I was scared I’d do something wrong. We hadn’t had sex since before the accident. He was too strung out and mostly in pain and I was a ball of anxiety. But today, when I saw him sing, I felt hot in all the wrong places. His confidence made him sexy. One flip of a switch and I was a puddle of dirty, raw want.
“Did you find a car?” He rested his head back.
“Not yet. Shopping with my mother isn’t fun. She wanted to get Ashton a Mini Cooper.”
“Yo
u haven’t shopped with my mother.” He laughed softly while his eyes remained closed. “Janet is very… How shall I put it? Specific.”
“Well, then our mothers will probably get along just fine.”
“Probably.”
Our hands rested in his lap.
“Frank?” I spun in my seat to face him. My throat tightened with the words that were trying to make their way out all at once.
“Hmm?” He didn’t move. Having his fingers entangled with mine felt warm and nice. And extremely distracting.
My thoughts spiraled inside my head. I dipped my other hand in his hair and combed my fingers through it.
“What’s wrong?” he said quietly.
“Please don’t get mad,” I whimpered.
“Did you do something?” His laugh caressed my ears.
“No, but I’ve been thinking a lot…”
“About what?”
My mind roared. I loved how in sync we were right now, but the events of last night were still fresh in my head and I hated that they reminded me of my father’s weakness so much. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but I really think you should take a step back from the band.”
Frank opened his eyes and looked at me. “I thought you were on my side, doll?”
“I am on your side. What if you need a third surgery?” My voice was a plea of despair.
“I won’t need a third surgery.”
“You don’t know that.”
“What’s gotten into you? Why are you so riled up?”
“I’m worried.”
“What are you worried about? I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not fine, Frank.” Here goes. “You know you shouldn’t drink, but you did anyway.”
“Is this about yesterday?”
I averted my gaze. “My father was an alcoholic.”
“It was just once. It won’t happen again.”
“You didn’t hear me, Frank,” I insisted, my lower lip shaking. “I can’t deal with this again.”
“I heard you.”
“Promise me you won’t touch alcohol again.”